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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801232">Caducus | Sleepy Boys Inc.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandraMariaAnna/pseuds/AlexandraMariaAnna'>AlexandraMariaAnna</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Sleepy Boys Inc., Video Blogging RPF, mcyt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, and now in a split second he's alone with himself, and tommy copes with destruction and anger, and we can see him spiraling, cos tommys character is such an interesting one in the sbi dynamic, do NOT listen to crywank while reading this it broke me, dream if you can see this i will pay your, he has those two gods above him basically, he is just learning how to cope, hoping for tommy techno reunion arc, i needed to see a little bit more emotion from this situation you know, just enjoy it, kinda relate, my hands are shaking, phil is NOT a bad dad, so i just wanted to fuel this rage into this fic, uncontrolled by his brothers, yeah i just wanted to make this whole situation hurt more, yeah thats all, you - Freeform, you know this is going to be traumatic when i cried while writitng this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:54:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,373</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801232</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexandraMariaAnna/pseuds/AlexandraMariaAnna</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy grieves in the only way he knows.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brotherly Bonds - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>306</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Caducus | Sleepy Boys Inc.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Bottles and vials clattered to the floor, covering the simple wooden surface with snow made of broken glass and mixed array of potions, now unable to be distinguished from each other as they mixed and ate at the floor, charring the ground and creating fumes that made Tommy’s eyes tear up even harder than they already were. His hands were stinging; there was glass embedded into his palms, but he felt no pain, just a dull thudding of blood rushing through his entire body, from the tips of his ears to his toes, carrying regret, pain, and absolute and utter anguish.</p><p>It hasn’t even been a day since Wilbur was laid to rest. The entire responsibility of burying him fell to Tommy and Niki; Tubbo had many responsibilities to attend to as the new president, Philza shut down completely when they had to nearly tear Wilbur’s dead body from his arms, Fundy outright refused to help, and Techno just disappeared, without a word, without a sound, leaving Tommy with the dead body of his brother and grief heavier than he could shoulder.</p><p>The room grew foggier and foggier as Tommy clenched his teeth and flipped the table in front of him over, the large wooden appliance colliding with the wardrobe, one of the legs dislocating and flying off towards the doorway. The potions were now eating at his shoes, but he couldn’t see it; he was blinded with rage and disappointment in everyone he ever trusted. His next victim was the chair by the window, one he vividly remembered being occupied by Wilbur as he plunked at his guitars’ strings, humming a gentle tune that would never gain words. The chair broke almost too easily, shattering into pieces when slammed against the wall, the paint chipping off and scattering across the room. Tommy roared as he kicked the biggest fragment that remained, not caring that his throat was rough and dry. Something was dripping down his face, and he would rather it was the blood that seeped through his bandages than tears he would be shedding over a traitor.</p><p>A traitor to the country. To the president.</p><p>To him.</p><p>He screamed again, tugging at his hair and thrashing about, trying to force himself to not think about Wilbur Soot, the murderer, the crazed, power-hungry maniac. Still, big brother Will was in there, at the back of his mind, teaching him how to walk and how to hold a sword. Big brother was in there, with his bright smile and laid-back personality, and even though he was annoying, loved teasing him, and was seemingly always a step ahead of him in academics, he was still Will, one that he grew up with, one whose scent calmed him down when he hugged him once in the blue moon, one that would bleed for him and go to any lengths to help him. Now he lived in his mind, and the gentle scent of cashmere and lavender was gone, and Tommy wanted to puke so badly, his eyes glazed over and stinging.</p><p>The room was a mess, and he was fully aware of that. He was also aware of the fact that it wasn’t his own room, but Wilbur deserved that for making him bury his fucking body, for making him feel like absolute shit, for making him cry even though he didn’t want to, even though he completely refused to cry when he was heaping soil onto Will’s body. There was nothing left to ruin really, and Tommy found himself cursing under his breath as he coughed, his nose starting to run from the fumes spreading in his room.</p><p>He stormed out, leaving a thin trail of blood dripping from his hands, the glass now out of his skin, but the skin still raw and wounded, throbbing. The door to Will’s room was left open as he headed downstairs, the smoke slowly seeping from the doorway. He was halfway down the stairs when he passed panicked Philza who, alarmed by the smoke and the loud banging, broke his depressive stupor to check if his house was not falling apart.</p><p>“Tommy? What’s going on?” he asked, pausing for a moment, checking if his youngest son was alright. The boy didn’t answer, clenching his fists, hiding the blood from Phil’s keen eyes.  The man most likely wanted to ask more questions, but his eyes widened when he noticed the smoke growing thicker and thicker, and he only threw him a pitiful glance before continuing his run upstairs. Tommy wasn’t even surprised that his own father didn’t take a second glance at his wounds, nor at the blood that was already peeking through his bandages. Philza wasn’t the first one to abandon him, and the gaping void in his chest whispered to him that he wouldn’t be the last one.</p><p>He was out of the house before he could hear Phil’s pained scream.</p><p>The day was coming to an end when he reached the wooded area of L’Manburg. The trees were evergreen and thick, unmoved by the explosion that destroyed Tommy’s life within seconds, and he found himself shivering when he walked into the shade they provided, the stark difference between the heat of the explosion and the chill of the evening startling. He walked for a while, the ever-present buzz in his ears growing louder and louder as he walked closer and closer to a painfully familiar clearing.</p><p>The sun just set when a simple stone, bathed in moonlight, came into Tommy’s view. It was a bitter sight, the soil still fresh, the flowers ripe and covered with evening mist, and the single candle someone lit not burned through.</p><p>
  <em>Wilbur Soot<br/>Beloved son, father, and brother<br/>May he finally rest in peace. </em>
</p><p>Tommy kicked the gravestone, half expecting Philza to pop out from behind the tree and scold him for being disrespectful (<em>if only Philza wasn’t occupied with lamenting over the destroyed room of his other son, like always putting the elder over the younger, maybe then Tommy would actually listen</em>). As expected, nothing happened, aside from the candle blowing out, the smoke shooting straight into the sky in a smooth motion.</p><p>“Hey, bitch.” Tommy spoke, wincing as the words came out more like a croak than coherent human speech. The hours of crying and screaming were catching up to him, and he felt tired, so, so tired. “What the fuck are you doing? It isn’t like you to slack off.”<br/>Absolute silence answered him, and Tommy huffed, crossing his arms on his chest. Fireflies started emerging from the treetops; Tommy felt so cold, even though he was wearing a long coat that smelled faintly of lavender. He looked around the gravesite. It didn’t change much over the couple of hours it was left alone; a simple photo brought from their childhood home sat propped up against the gravestone, the young Wilbur delivering a toothy grin to the camera. Next to it, a folded flag of L’Manburg, courtesy of Tubbo, laid under a bouquet of flowers, a stray four-leaf clover weaved between the fresh buds. Tommy had an idea who brought it, but he wasn’t ready for that conversation yet, not when the box of matches in his pocket burned his side.</p><p>He used it to spark the candle back to life, throwing it into the forest afterwards.</p><p>“I hate being the youngest brother.” He muttered, sitting down on the damp soil that surrounded the grave, the fact that his clothes were getting dirty the last thing on his mind. “It’s always you and Techno. Shit, I’ve looked up to both of you all my life! I like to think that I’ve always been in your corner when you needed me.” His palms, now covered with sweat, finally started stinging, and he clenched and unclenched his fists, hoping for the pain to go away by itself. “Though that wasn’t often. It was me running to you most of the time.”</p><p>The forest was silent and unresponsive, and so was the gravestone, the photo of his older brother staring right into his soul. Tommy clenched his teeth.</p><p>“I trashed your fucking room, bitch! You deserve that shit for what you pulled, left me behind to deal with all… this! By myself! All your potions, all your furniture, fuck, even the floor probably! Gone! Burned and broken, with my own damn hands!” he yelled, victory on his face, though his voice was breaking and turning into a harsh whisper when he tried to be loud. “I fucking followed you like a dog out of our family home, through the war, through the revolution! And where did that lead me? I have nothing left!”</p><p>He could swear his throat was covered with blood.</p><p>“Techno, even though he was always off by himself somewhere, he always came to help me when I asked, he taught me so much shit about fighting and the world, and travelling, and-“ he swallowed the spit that was no longer there, leaving his mouth dry and his lower lip trembling just the slightest bit. “And you basically raised me when dad was away. Sure, you teased me, and sometimes made my life a living hell, but you were cool! You were a musician, girls liked you – for a while at least – you read so many books that I could never even approach, you were a leader! And then you went fucking nuts!”</p><p>Tommy grabbed his head with his hands, his eyes now locked on his dirty shoes.</p><p>“You stopped being a brother that I once knew. Both you and Techno became completely different people! There were no smiles, there was no support, there was no… God I hate this fucking word, there was no love!” he threw his hands in the air in distress, but, still, no one answered him, leaving him staring dumbfounded at the grave. “Techno got obsessed with war, you got obsessed with power; I was left behind and it felt like shit! It felt like absolute dog shit, Wilbur, and I wish I could tell you that before dad went and fucking killed you!” he looked away into the forest, his voice growing softer at the memory of his father clinging onto Wilbur’s cold body. “You were both people I knew and yet you were someone completely different. And I can’t stop thinking that maybe if I never told you that I want to leave home as Techno did, I wouldn’t have lost everything.”</p><p>He wasn’t sure for how long he has sat in silence, the evening mist gathering in his wild, blonde hair, but when he spoke again, his throat felt much better than before.<br/>“I know I’m not a good person, I did a lot of bad shit. I stole from people, I killed people, I ruined people’s lives and livelihoods, Wilbur, I deserved this. I know that there would be no way in hell that I would get a happy ending after all of that, and yet-“ his voice broke again, a hiccup that seemingly came out of nowhere leaving his throat with the volume of a gunshot. He hated weakness, he hated not being the <em>big man </em>he claimed he was, and yet, as he sat over the grave of his brother, he felt absolutely, and utterly helpless. “-and yet I still want you back here Will. I want you and Techno to tease me again and I want to be able to get angry at you, I want to be able to let all of this out!” he sobbed, not registering the tears that left his eyes. “Dad’s not the same since you died, he barely eats- I just want my family back, is that too much to ask?!” he was screaming again, choking on the tears that poured into his throat, and he clawed at the fresh earth, punching the ground and screaming profanities.</p><p>The gravestone remained silent.</p><p>“I don’t want this! I don’t want to be the president, nor vice-president, I told you! I told you that! I just wanted to be included, I just wanted to help-” his voice broke, and he coughed into his fist, the tears getting into his windpipe not stopping his grief-filled rant. “-I just wanted to be useful for once! Come back you fucking bitch, I still need to tell you so much shit! I actually do want to learn guitar, I was just giving you a hard time, the way you just make music happen is so cool, I always- I always-!”</p><p>The air that was in his lungs finally ran out and he wheezed, tears mixed with snot and saliva staining his clothes, the ground, the grave.</p><p>“-I wanted to be like you Wilbur.” He finally choked out, his body convulsing in sob-caused shivers. He was bawling like a child he truly was, like a small boy who was thrown in the middle of a political conflict he never asked for. His fake confidence was gone and stripped to his bare, raw humanity, he rubbed at his eyes with mud-stained hands. Tommy’s entire body was tearing apart, splitting with thundering pain that spread from his chest to every part of his body.</p><p>“I’m scared! I’m scared, okay!? I don’t want to be alone; I don’t want this to be my punishment!” he cried out, and with that, his voice finally gave out completely, rendering any further attempts at speech to croaks and hisses. That only made the boy feel worse, and he continued to cry, the tears washing away the dirt from his cheeks.</p><p>He sat there for a while, wailing like a newborn child, until his lungs gave out, until his breath turned ragged, and until he couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore. He slept on the forest floor, his face pressed into the collar of the familiar coat, the ever-so-faint smell of lavender lulling him into oblivion. He didn’t remember being picked up by a pair of strong hands or being carried home, wrapped into a blanket stained with tears.</p><p>What he did remember, however, was a flash of pink hair, and a glint of golden crown placed on top of the gravestone, one that would remain there until the end of the unknown future.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Come yell at me @SummoningFailed on twitter because my head hurts from crying. <br/>Need to write big brother Blade next so I don't feel empty forever.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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